At this moment, deep beneath the Hall of Justice in Washington D.C., Earth-0.
The Dragon skeleton cast a strange brown glow beneath the illumination of huge jars filled with luminous insects. Directly below the skeletal specimen, a group of people was holding a meeting—or rather, exchanging intelligence.
Diana and Zatanna leaned against each other, slumped across a long sofa. Both looked listless, their eyes vacant.
While Man-Bat explained his experimental findings, neither beautiful woman seemed to be listening.
Zatanna was still recovering from a serious illness. Her soul had been damaged last time, and she was still undergoing restorative treatment.
Not long ago, she had been forced to drink a concoction brewed from voodoo ingredients such as turtle shells, raven droppings, scorpion dung, and virgin hair. It tasted like hippo excrement, making her question her entire life.
Wonder Woman, meanwhile, was distracted because of what had happened last night. Although she had made her stance clear to her boyfriend, she was still worried that he would storm Mount Olympus and chop down Zeus along with all her brothers and sisters.
She had not dared sleep during the latter half of the night, afraid that Deathstroke would return carrying a pile of heads and casually toss evidence of his murders onto the bed.
After getting up in the morning, she called Donna and told her about her worries. Her sister had merely said:
"Times have changed. The Warrior usually doesn't chop off heads anymore. Mercenary only needs to take pictures of the bodies with his phone. Besides, with Strangle around, I doubt anyone Slade kills will even have a head left."
That answer was no help at all. It only made Diana worry more.
If Deathstroke had truly committed a massacre, and it was one of those headless cases, what was